


still burning

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Ahsoka - E. K. Johnston
Genre: F/F, Hopeful Ending, Partial Nudity, Post-Star Wars: Ahsoka, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Reunions, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Ahsoka shudders, an involuntary motion that ends with her bashing her elbow against the temperature controls, knocking it all the way to ‘Approximately the Temperature of Mustafar.’“Sith spit,” she hisses, reaching out and jabbing at the far wall of the 'fresher with her free hand until the water turns off entirely. The skin on her arm and shoulder is tender and inflamed when she steps out into the rest of the room, dripping water on the durasteel floor.“Oh,” someone says.There’s a human woman in the room.





	still burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReySkyrissian (ErinacchiLove)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinacchiLove/gifts).



> ReySkyrissian, I hope you enjoy this! It's been a while since I read the _Ahsoka_ novel and I have to admit that I still haven't finished tcw or watched any of Rebels (I am... not the best sw fan, admittedly), so the timeline and some facts may be a little off. I still had a lot of fun writing this and I hope it brings you some small measure of joy! <3

Ahsoka lands her T-6 in the docking bay of the frigate, her hands tight on the controls to stop herself from itching. After three months on a desert planet so remote its system still hasn’t been named, her skin is as dry and tough as rancor-leather and she feels as though she understands Anakin a little better, in hindsight.

There is sand under  _ all _ of her nails. 

Including her toenails.

Ahsoka powers down the shuttle but stays seated, her shoulders held stiff and high to keep them from rubbing on her lekku. She didn’t know that lekku-burns were a  _ thing _ before this mission, and now she wishes that she still lived in blissful ignorance.

Techs move briskly on the deck below her, checking over her ship for damage and hooking it up to refuel. This is her first time on this particular medical frigate, and she won’t be here long—but Bail had taken one look at her, even through the monochrome blue of the holoprojector, and laughingly suggested she receive medical attention for her burns.

She’s uncomfortable enough that she didn’t even think to turn down his idea.

Ahsoka checks once more that her ’sabers are hooked onto her belt as they always are. The bridge crew already asked for her credentials and transponder code, but after she disembarks Ahsoka finds a set of guards waiting for her, looking bored in the way young people often do when they think their time is being wasted. 

“Identifier,” says the one on the right, a young Iridonian Zabrak with deep blue skin. He doesn’t even bother looking at her, instead watching the crew continue to work on her ship. His partner is Kel Dor, like Master Plo had been. It is impossible to tell where their attention is fixed, but Ahsoka can sense their disinterest.

“Fulcrum,” Ahsoka says.

The Zabrak rolls his eyes; maybe he’s used to new hotshot agents stumbling out of their ship with their hair still smoking, claiming to be  _ the _ Fulcrum. Ahsoka wouldn’t be surprised if it was a weekly occurrence on such a large ship.

It’s a good thing Rex is off on his own mission, because he would have a field day with these recruits. And stars forbid if Kix ever got his hands on them...

The Zabrak’s eyes slide over, finally, to look at her, and she sees the exact moment that he realizes who she is, because he goes as still as an ash-rabbit hiding from a predator. She should probably be concerned that her face is, apparently, so recognizable. But then again, the Fulcrum symbol is rather  _ unique. _

Ahsoka gives him a smile that’s all teeth.

“Uh—Agent Fulcrum,” he says, straightening until his posture resembles something that, generously, might be considered parade rest. He elbows the Kel Dor. “How can we help you?”

“I need to see a doctor or a med-droid,” Ahsoka says. “Whichever is faster.”

She needs to make it to her debriefing as soon as possible, but these kids don’t need to know that. 

“Yeah—absolutely.” He elbows his partner again as he turns toward the turbolift at the back of the bay. “My name is Aako and this is Trir. Sorry for, uh, that.”

Ahsoka elects not to respond, more out of mercy than annoyance. 

Aako and Trir start in tandem and Ahsoka follows half a step behind. As they walk, she reaches back and touches her fingertips to her ’saber handles. They come away gritty with sand and she grimaces.

“Is it possible to get an exam room with a ’fresher? My ship stopped recycling water properly a few weeks ago.”

Aako falls over himself to reassure her they can get her access to a ’fresher while Trir hits the button for the lift. Ahsoka finds herself watching their movements without meaning to. They’re dressed in a standard issue brown jumpsuit, and it’s just similar enough to the old Jedi robes that all of the differences from Master Plo threaten to give Ahsoka a headache. 

The turbolift is silent, probably due to the fact that Trir keeps pinching Aako on the arm every time he opens his mouth to speak. Ahsoka winces in sympathy; Kel Dor talons are sharp, even with thick skin, and Trir doesn’t seem to be holding back.

The doors open and Trir leads her to an exam room that, as promised, has a ’fresher tucked into one corner, partially hidden behind the bed that takes up the middle of the room. Aako trails behind Ahsoka, discreetly rubbing his arm when he thinks no one will notice. 

“We’ll go see which of the doctors are available right now,” Aako tells her. He looks so young, though he has to be older than she was when the Republic fell.

Ahsoka sighs and keeps her hands by her sides so she doesn’t itch the spot on her left montral that feels like it’s burning even though she really,  _ really _ wants to. She says, “Thank you for your help, both of you.”

Aako brightens and starts off down the hall in the opposite direction of the turbolift. Trir nods at Ahsoka once before following him at a more sedated pace.

Ahsoka watches them go for a few seconds before keying the door closed and sighing again, this time deeply enough that it echos oddly in her montrals. She grimaces and swallows to get rid of the feeling.

She crosses quickly to the back corner and pulls off her armor, dropping it all in a pile on the floor. The clothing underneath is stiff enough that she swears every time it hits a patch of sensitive skin, which is more often than she would like. It gets added to the pile. She glances back over her shoulder to check the small room, but there’s nothing for her to change into after she uses the ’fresher, so she leaves her underwrappings on. Better, in her mind, to clean them along with herself instead of cleaning herself and then having to put the dirty wrappings on again. 

After a debate that’s long enough to almost be embarrassing, Ahsoka decides she probably doesn’t need to bring her ’sabers into the ‘fresher with her. If it comes down to it, she’ll be able to summon them to her almost as quickly as she could draw them when the handles are wet.

She’s in too much pain to crank the temperature up as high as she would like, but even a lukewarm shower is better than a sonic, though she would take a sonic right now over nothing. Still, for a long, blissful moment Ahsoka simply presses her arms to her chest and tilts her face into the stream of water.

Her lekku and montrals are sensitive from the burns but she takes the time to duck down and rinse them off, trying to rid herself of the sensation of sand sliding across her skin. She shudders, an involuntary motion that ends with Ahsoka bashing her elbow against the temperature controls, knocking it all the way to ‘Approximately the Temperature of Mustafar.’

“ _ Sith spit _ ,” she hisses, reaching out and jabbing at the far wall with her free hand until the water turns off entirely. The skin on her arm and shoulder is tender and inflamed when she steps out into the rest of the room, dripping water on the durasteel floor.

“Oh,” someone says.

Ahsoka summons her ’sabers before she finishes turning but she doesn’t ignite the blades.

There’s a human woman in the room, dressed in the simple gray jacket that marks her as a Rebellion doctor. There are Churi-feet at the corner of her eyes, as though she spends a lot of time laughing, and lines across her forehead, as though she spends just as much time worrying over one thing or another. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in a multitude of tiny twists, dotted with little copper clasps. Her hand hovers above her breastbone, like she’s been taken by surprise and forgot what she was doing only a moment before. 

“Ahsoka?” the woman asks. 

_ Oh _ indeed.

Ahsoka becomes very aware of the water droplets sliding down her skin until they reach the edge of her breast band, and of just how small her wrappings actually are. There's a lot of skin on display right now, most of it burned to a crisp. The thought embarrasses her more than it should.

“Hey, Kaeden.”

* * *

It’s an awkward few minutes. Despite the fact that they are both gown adults and trained professionals, there is something about coming face-to-face with someone who is a  _ could have been _ after fifteen years that seems to undo their professionalism. Funny how that works.

Ahsoka reluctantly puts down her ’sabers and stands, dripping on the floor, as Kaeden pops open a compartment in the wall and hands over a towel and a dressing gown. They don’t make eye contact. Kaeden retreats back towards the door and crosses her arms, staring at the floor while Ahsoka dries off.

It’s a slow process. The rough fabric of the old, over-washed towel catches on every sensitive patch of skin, causing Ahsoka to grit her teeth and suck a breath in through her nose.

The gown is what does her in. Sometime between getting out of the shower and now, Ahsoka’s muscles have stiffened, and she finds it impossible to raise her arms high enough to hook the gown onto her shoulders. 

She hisses in a breath and swallows a curse.

“What is it?” Kaeden asks, at Ahsoka’s side when moments before she was across the room. All the awkwardness has fallen away, leaving only the competent doctor behind. “Come sit. This is why you’re here?”

Ahsoka drops the gown and sits on the exam bed while Kaeden busies herself pulling on gloves.

“What’s going on, exactly?” Kaeden asks, then gestures vaguely in Ahsoka’s direction. “Do you mind?”

Ahsoka shakes her head, so Kaeden begins checking her over. “I just got back from three months in the desert.”

“Ouch.” Kaeden picks up Ahsoka’s left lekku and peers at the slightly shriveled end of it. Ahsoka twitches; she’s never gotten used to the ease with which humans touch other beings. The senses in her lekku are dulled, so she can barely feel Kaeden’s fingers. It's disconcerting. “I’ve never seen a lek so dehydrated before. Or a Togruta with a sunburn.”

“Me either,” Ahsoka admits, rueful. 

Kaeden moves back to the compartment on the wall. She explains that they can’t spare the bacta, not that Ahsoka would expect bacta for something as minor as a sunburn, no matter how uncomfortable it is. Instead, Kaeden gives Ahsoka an IV and pulls out a tube of the ever-popular aloe that’s grown on Ryloth and a few other planets. It's said to be good for healing burns, though she's never had reason to use it in the past.

They’re quiet as Kaeden treats her, hands gentle. The sterile coldness of the medical frigate couldn’t be farther from the small dirt hut on Raada where Ahsoka helped Kaeden feel as comfortable as she could before leaving, but she still finds herself thinking of that day, the smell of sweat and blood and the corrosives Ahsoka used to break Kaeden out. The way Kaeden had urged her to leave.

She hadn’t done enough to help Kaeden after the ordeal she had been through, Ahsoka realizes that now. But they were just kids then, both of them, and despite Ahsoka’s battlefield experience and Jedi training, she wasn’t a trained medic. She still isn’t.

“You became a doctor,” she says, low enough not to disturb the quiet that has settled upon the room.

“And Miara became a fighter pilot,” Kaeden replies.

Ahsoka laughs. “Not a bomber?”

“No.” Kaeden shakes her head and pulls off the gloves, depositing them in the waste panel on the side of the bed. “Fulcrum assigned Miara her first mission, actually. She figured out the symbol immediately.”

Ahsoka doesn’t remember too much about Miara, after so many years, besides her halo of hair and the bright look in her eyes when she was deciding how to assemble her bombs. She was a smart kid, and Ahsoka doesn’t doubt that she’s grown into an incredible woman and a fierce rebel.

She wants to apologize, but she doesn’t know what she would be apologizing for. Or what she shouldn't be apologizing for, maybe.

Kaeden moves away to place the leftover supplies back into the wall compartment and closes the panel with a final-sounding  _ click. _ She turns back around and leans back against the wall. Ahsoka stays on the bed, holding herself as still as she can manage, and looks at her, the easy set of her shoulders and the exhaustion dragging her down into the ship.

“I’m going to prescribe two days of bed rest.” Kaeden holds up a hand to stave off Ahsoka’s complaint. “We can get an encrypted holoprojector in here for your debriefing, there’s at least one on the ship. You need time to heal.” She nods at the IV that’s still hooked into Ahsoka’s arm. “I’ve learned a lot from Kanan and some of the others. That’s a sugar compound. I want you on it or a vitamin compound the entire time you're here. It’ll speed up your recovery in general, but also help with any of your Jedi stuff.”

Ahsoka thinks about protesting that she isn’t a Jedi, but it seems like a waste of breath. 

Kaeden has to come closer to the bed in order to make it to the door, and when she does Ahsoka reaches out and takes her hand. She holds it loosely enough that Kaeden can pull away if she wants, but with enough strength to catch her attention. Kaeden meets Ahsoka’s gaze evenly.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ahsoka says lamely. She doesn’t have a plan for this. “You and Miara both.”

Kaeden squeezes Ahsoka’s hand. “I’m glad you’re alive. It was touch and go for a while, from what I hear.”

Ahsoka smiles apologetically, and lets her pull away when she tries. The door whooshes shut behind Kaeden as she leaves, and Ahsoka leans back on the bed, careful not to smear aloe everywhere.

Two days. She can probably handle two days.

* * *

Partway through the first day the ship—which Ahsoka still doesn’t know the name of, come to think of it—responds to a Rebel distress call after a raid gone very wrong. It takes most of the day to reach the cell’s position since they're forced to avoid the major hyperspace lanes. Most of that time is filled with preparations, and then everyone who is able helps with the injured rebel soldiers as well as the citizens of the planet that were caught in the crossfire. 

Ahsoka is _not_ allowed to help. Her bed rest, as she learns, is strictly enforced by a droid stationed outside her door. Another droid brings her meals twice a day, which, she imagines, is as often as they can spare the rations. She hasn’t seen Kaeden since the initial exam, and she feels like she’s about to crawl out of her skin from boredom. And itchiness.

She’s  _ so _ itchy. 

The droid releases her the evening of the second day and Ahsoka wastes no time in pulling on her now-clean clothes before making her way to the hanger. Her briefing was postponed by the skirmish the frigate responded to, and she’s now in the wrong quadrant for an in-person meeting, but she’s done them over comm before.

Ahsoka touches her fingers to the hilts of her ’sabers as she waits in the turbolift. The doors open to the busy hanger bay, busier now that they have ships to repair.

Kaeden is waiting for her at the foot of her T-6. When she sees Ahsoka, she smiles and shifts her weight forward.

“I thought I would see you off,” Kaeden says, once Ahsoka is close enough to hear her over the din. Now that they’re both standing, Ahsoka can see that, while she has continued to grow over the years, Kaeden hasn’t. She barely comes up to Ahsoka’s nose now.

“Thank you,” Ahsoka belatedly offers. 

Kaeden holds out her hand and waits until Ahsoka takes what she has. It’s an encrypted comlink. Not cheap, either, judging by the model.

She tilts her head down and receives a wry smile in return. Human eyebrows are capable of expressing so many different emotions.

“Miara had a third one made, in case we found you again,” Kaeden says. The words catch in Ahsoka’s chest and nestle down there. She closes her fist around the comlink. “We understand that you won’t always be able to talk, or tell us anything important, but don’t be a stranger.”

Ahsoka tucks the gift up into her arm brace. Kaeden is still there, smiling up at her, so Ahsoka leans down and kisses her cheek.

“Thank you,” she says again, their faces still held close together. She can feel Kaeden’s breath on her cheek and starts to pull away, to give Kaeden space.

Kaeden rocks forward up onto her toes, following Ahsoka’s path until she can press a kiss to her lips.

When they part, Kaeden says, “Be safe, Fulcrum.”

Ahsoka is helpless to do anything but obey, with the memory of that kiss lingering as she climbs into the cockpit and takes off. She feels the phantom warmth of Kaeden’s lips for days, until the comlink, still in her arm brace, chirps with an incoming call.

“Fulcrum,” she says.

“How are the stars?” Kaeden asks, her voice only barely distorted by the distance.

Ahsoka suppresses a smile and looks to the galaxy, sprawling out before her. 

“Still burning,” she says. But she means the hope in her chest, reignited at last, as much as anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated but, of course, never required <3


End file.
